


You Could Knock It Down And Start Rebuilding

by waitingfor_shiro (waitingfor_margo)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingfor_margo/pseuds/waitingfor_shiro
Summary: "And as Keith turned his head there he was, the man Keith would do this gig for, sitting on a chair near the stage, clad in a black shirt and grey jeans, blowing his white fringe out of his face. Keith felt hotter all of a sudden. Shiro caught his eye and smiled one of his dazzling smiles, so genuine, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. Keith smiled back, then turned around and took a deep breath."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kind of AU thingy in which Shiro works in a bar where Keith sings and plays guitar every now and then
> 
> compliment my writing trash on Tumblr @ http://no-way-no-gay.tumblr.com/ and my drawing trash @ https://cocoastainseverywhere.tumblr.com/

Calm. Keith felt calm. Normally before a gig it was as if he could feel every single nerve in his body. As if he was aware of every single cell, his blood pumping through his veins, his muscles contracting, his brain cells pulsing, his hair growing by a single fucking bit every second and it used to overwhelm him so that he felt like throwing up. But not today. Because Keith felt determined. He was amazed his little plan didn’t have the opposite effect, making him throw up for real instead. But when Keith had chosen a path then he fucking took it. And so there was no turning back and his body seemed to accept that. There was no sign it wanted to flee from what was about to come. And as he grabbed his guitar to tune it, Keith listened to his heartbeat, the steady “ba bump, ba bump, ba bump” sounding like the rhythm of a drum, making him feel at ease. His fingers glided over the fret, making himself and his instrument feel used to this song again. He hadn’t played it in ages. Well, months. And yet, without having practised it a bit first here it was the number one on his set list. Keith didn’t bother singing the lyrics, he would do that in a few minutes anyway, with an audience. And a very important guest. He just needed to occupy his fingers for a bit longer. The melody wafted through the air and helped Keith find the last bit of peace. He breathed in long through his nose and stopped playing. “Showtime”, he whispered to himself, partly because that was what he thought a disenchanted loner with his crush sitting out there - like him - did whisper to himself to ease his nerves. (they did it like that in the movies, right?) And partly because he needed to check if his voice was still with him. Then he stepped out of the room and into the bar.  
He quickly got up onto the small stage, sat his guitar on a chair standing there solely for him, and laid the set list onto the floor. He scanned it with his eyes one last time.

1\. Courtney Barnett – Depreston  
2\. Frank Turner – Song For Josh  
3\. Arctic Monkeys – Mardy Bum  
4\. Arcade Fire – The Suburbs  
5\. The Libertines – What Katie Did  
6\. The Verve – Lucky Man  
7\. Ewan MacColl – Dirty Old Town  
8\. Brian Protheroe – Pinball  
9\. Alt-J – Matilda  
10\. The Smiths – There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Yes, allowedly one wouldn’t have guessed what Keith would play was a “love confession list”. Not a single song he would perform was officially a love song. But to Keith they were. Every single one of them. It wasn’t that Shiro had showed them to him, or that the both of them had experienced anything together while listening to those songs so that Keith would now connect them to each shared memory. And it also wasn’t that their lyrics fit Keith’s current situation or Shiro’s personality and anything connected to them really. It simply was the music. The words didn’t matter. Of course they still were important to Keith. His favourite artists were also great lyricists and Keith didn’t know how they always managed to find the words to say the things he felt. But they did. And if he wasn’t skint he’d be covered in tattoos of his favourite lyrics by now. But the thing was: Keith needed to find his own words. And he did – when listening to music. Then the music found the words for him. It was its very own language that couldn’t be translated in only one way. And although each musician found their own words for their melodies, Keith found others. And they all led him to Shiro. When Shiro smiled at him, Keith heard this calm sound of Courtney Barnett’s voice singing to the melody of Depreston, beautiful in its simplicity. When Shiro teased him, raising his eyebrow, Keith was reminded of the mocking saxophone in Brian Protheroe’s Pinball. When they smoked outside the bar after Keith had finished a set and he couldn’t help but glance at Shiro, his face illuminated by the street lamps and the ever changing colours of the traffic lights, he then heard, silently playing in his head, Alt-J’s Matilda, sweet and caring and yet as rapid as Keith’s heartbeat. For everything Shiro did, for everything he was, there was a sound in Keith’s head. Little melodies, many instruments or few, fast or slow, every emotion there was cramped into a row of sounds. There weren’t only those ten songs he had planned for tonight, there were so many more, so much more Shiro related music. But somehow Keith had found himself with those for this gig and he felt they were right. Keith had chosen tonight, spontaneously, as Shiro didn’t have work. It wouldn’t have been very clever to pour your soul out while the guy of your dreams was busy serving the guests. But Shiro would be here nonetheless. He always came to see Keith play. And it made Keith’s skin tingle every time.  
And as Keith turned his head there he was, the man Keith would do this gig for, sitting on a chair near the stage, clad in a black shirt and grey jeans, blowing his white fringe out of his face. Keith felt hotter all of a sudden. Shiro caught his eye and smiled one of his dazzling smiles, so genuine, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. Keith smiled back, then turned around and took a deep breath. He adjusted the microphone before gripping his guitar tightly. “Um, hello everyone”, he spoke into the mic and most people turned in his direction. “For those who don’t know me already, I’m Keith Kogane and I’m going to play a few songs tonight, if that’s okay with you.” Some people cheered, Keith recognised a few who had been part of his audience before. Most of the others seemed interested as well. Good. “To be honest, this evening is special for me as I prepared it for someone important. Someone special.” There were a few “aw”s but Keith didn’t listen to them. He looked over to Shiro whose face showed genuine surprise. “I’ll start with Depreston by Courtney Barnett, a truly amazing artist, you should all listen to her.”  
Keith adjusted the grip on his guitar and finally began to play. Although he hadn’t played it for a long time, the song came naturally to him and soon Keith looked up from his instrument and back over to Shiro. And he began to sing to him and he hoped Shiro would understand. “You said we should look out further, I guess it wouldn't hurt us. We don't have to be around all these coffee shops”, Keith sang and as these lines wafted through the air they carried their true meaning with them, the meaning Keith had given them and what he hoped reached Shiro’s ears was _“You said I should say what I feel, I hope it won't hurt us. We won't be able to be around each other anymore otherwise”._ And so it went on.  
“Now we've got that percolator, never made a latte greater. I'm saving twenty three dollars a week.” _“Now we've got those feelings between us, never did I feel greater. I feel miserable when I don’t see you for a week.”_  
“We drive to a house in Preston, we see police arresting a man with his hand in a bag. How's that for first impressions? This place seems depressing. It's a Californian bungalow in a cul-de-sac.”  
_“We accept the love we think we deserve, in your hand you hold my heart. What I thought when I first saw you? I was depressed. Because I knew that I’m not good enough for you.”_  
“It's got a lovely garden, a garage for two cars to park in or a lot of room for storage if you've just got one.”  
_“You are the most genuine person I ever met, you are there for everyone who needs you, although you don’t owe them.”_  
“And it's going pretty cheap you say, well it's a deceased estate. Aren't the pressed metal ceilings great?”  
_“’It’s nothing, really’ I hear you say. No, it is. Don’t you see how great you are?”_  
“Then I see the handrail in the shower, a collection of those canisters for coffee tea and flour and a photo of a young man in a van in Vietnam.”  
_“And I see your frown when no one’s looking, I see the nightmares in your eyes and how you clench your right fist.”_  
“And I can't think of floorboards anymore, whether the front room faces south or north. And I wonder what she bought it for.”  
_“And I can’t say how proud I am of you, how much I love you. And I wonder how you feel for me.”_  
“If you've got a spare half a million you could knock it down and start rebuilding.”  
_“If I had the courage, I could knock this doubt down and just ask you.”_  
Keith kept his eyes on Shiro the whole time and prayed he would understand. Prayed if he didn’t, that he would after the next few songs. Purple and grey eyes stayed locked. And Shiro’s looked so intense, fixated Keith with a force that made him feel dizzy.  
Suddenly, when Keith played the final part of the song, he stood up and made his way over to the stage. Keith’s breath hitched. Shiro stood in front of him, while he let the song fade out, his face up close and simply beautiful. He just stood there and Keith’s heart beat fast, the air between them thick. Then, as Keith strummed the final note, Shiro stepped onto the stage. Keith’s eyes widened as Shiro put the microphone aside, took Keith’s face in his hands and kissed him. Then and there. After a second Keith responded, melted into the kiss. His hands found Shiro’s neck and he brought himself closer. His senses couldn’t comprehend that this was happening, Shiro’s strong hands on his face, his face pressed to Keith’s, the soft texture of his lips, the sweet smell on his breath, everything was so intense. Neither of them heard the whistles and clapping and neither of them cared. After a moment they both pulled away but stayed in each other’s personal space. Keith didn’t know what to say as they gazed into one another’s eyes. But it was okay. Actually it was perfect.


End file.
